


Slowly but Surely

by fullmetaldouche



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmetaldouche/pseuds/fullmetaldouche
Summary: Just moments between major plot-points during the main storyline, nothing ground-breaking. Just a good little bit of old-fashioned mutual pining and (eventual) sickly sweet fluff involving our beloved Commander and my elven mage Inquisitor, Idrilla Lavellan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this originally, but it's been sitting in my Documents folder for about a year now and I have a few chapters saved up so why not? Enjoy!

Haven isn't the worst place to be by far, and it's nice to come back to some place vaguely familiar after spending two weeks in the war-torn Hinterlands. But all of the people around are sometimes too much for one who, up until three weeks ago, had been fairly content living her life as a relative recluse, even from her own clan.

Ironically, the snowy, barren grounds around the small town offer the elf no safe haven, nowhere to hide when the sights and sounds become overwhelming. Idrilla has taken to leaving the town quietly at night, aided by the shadows, and creeping into the surrounding woods. She remains there until she's tired, or, in some cases, until the sun begins to rise through the breach, signalling it's time to return to her quarters before someone realizes she's gone.

Apparently she did not always go unseen.

Perched high in the branches of a tree one night, she hears the distinct sound of footsteps crunching in the snow towards her. She freezes. Had she covered her tracks?

Apparently not. The footsteps stop right below her tree, and she hears a familiar sigh.

"Herald? Is that you up there?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, the elf draws in a deep breath. A headache begins to pulse right between her brows. Was it too much to ask to be left alone for a few hours? Must they always track her down like a runaway dog?

After a few moments, she replies. "Can I help you, commander?" Her words are more clipped than she would have liked. She's very fond of the commander, but the days of constant traveling have worn her nerves down to practically nothing. By the time her party had returned to the frostbacks, Idrilla wanted nothing more than to be left alone. She hadn't gotten what she wanted until night fell.

She hears the commander shuffle his feet awkwardly as he decides what to say. "So...what are you doing up there? Now? I mean, at this time of night?"

"I assure you, Commander, I'm not planning on running away, if that's what you're asking. You can return to your tent with peace of mind." From day one, the residents of Haven and her even inner circle had been waiting for the day when she would run off into the woods, never to be seen again. It was almost insulting how easily they accepted the idea of her shirking her responsibilities and leaving the shems to handle their problems on their own.

"No, I didn't mean-" he sighs. "could you come down? I can't, in good conscience, leave you out here by yourself." He sounds slightly agitated, and Idrilla feels a pang of guilt. The commander always looks stressed and tired, and she can practically feel his headaches and muscle pains when she's near him. She doesn't want to add to his maladies.

"I – alright, commander, you got me. I'm coming down." She adjusts herself on her branch in preparation for her descent. "Be ready to catch me if I fall." Hearing the commander's answering chuckle lifts her spirits, just a little bit.

When her feet finally crunch in the snow around the base of the tree, the ex-Templar is waiting patiently for her. "Maker's breath, my lady, are you not cold?" He motions to her simple cotton shirt and breeches. Of course she's cold, but her coat makes too much noise when she moves to allow her to sneak out of town unnoticed. Not like it mattered tonight anyway. In answer to his question, she shrugs.

He shakes his head, and Idrilla would've thought he was disappointed with her were it not for the small smile that graces his lips and pulls at his scar. Her stomach seems to contract inside her body, her eyes glued to that wicked white line bisecting his upper lip. Creators strike her down where she stands, just seeing him smile makes her entire body warm.

"Come, let's get you near a fire." He puts a hand lightly on her shoulder and guides her back in the direction of Haven. "Then I can question you about tonight's suspicious behaviour." She tries to ignore the goosebumps that rise on the back of her neck, from his comment or his proximity, Idrilla's not sure.

She has to admit, the fire is nice. It warms her numb fingers and gives her something to do with her hands other than awkwardly let them fidget in her lap, much like the commander's gloved ones, as of present. Her attention moves from his hands to his face when he clears his throat.

"So, Herald, what w-"

"Please, before you begin your  _interrogation_ , commander," she smiles sheepishly at him to make up for her rude interruption. "Would it be proper of me to ask you to just call me by my name? You could call me anything really, as long as it's not Herald." She makes a face of distaste at the word. It had created a...rift, for lack of a better word, between her and everyone she had met in her travels. The name had brought nothing but scrutiny and judgement from those around her, and even those who admired her still held her at arms length as if she was something that they couldn't be near. Silently, she wishes she could simply be herself again, simply be Idrilla.

The man beside her is silent for a few moments, and she wonders quietly if she'd said the wrong thing. Perhaps he doesn't see their relationship to be as friendly as she thinks it is?

His smile moments later makes her cheeks flush red, and she hopes the glow of the fire in front of them masks it well enough. She thinks she sees colour in his fair skin as well, but she doesn't have time to inspect further before he begins speaking.

"Of course, on one condition." She silently asks him to name his terms with the simple raising of one dark brow. "You have to call me by my name as well. No more  _commander."_

Idrilla can feel the blush from her cheeks creep down onto her neck. She bites her lip and nods, trying to hold back a grin threatening to break through. It's all she can do to stop from saying something stupid that she knows she would later regret. She wonders fleetingly why she suddenly becomes such a fool around handsome Fereldan men.

"Has anyone called you Idrilla since you joined the Inquisition?" Cullen asks after a moment of silence, and her heart dangerously flips in her chest when he says her name.

"Not until now." She glances from the fire up at him, and his intense stare makes her flush an even deeper shade of crimson under her collar. For once, she's thankful for the human clothing that covers everything.

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the quiet crackle of the fire and their own gentle breathing. Eventually, Idrilla feels sleep pull at her eyelids. With a deep breath, she reluctantly begins to stand from her place beside Cullen. "I should probably go." Something flashes behind the commander's amber eyes, but it's too quick for her to identify. "Thank you for not letting me turn into an icicle out there, Cullen." His name sounds strange coming out of her mouth.

He begins to stand along with her. "Let me walk you to your quarters, at least."

Idrilla wants to protest, but she can't find any good reason to deny herself a few extra minutes with him. She concedes without hesitation. By the time they reach her door, she suddenly doesn't want to go inside. "I'll...see you in the morning, I suppose." She murmurs, quiet enough that he has to lean in slightly to hear her words. Her heart rate picks up.

"Hera-" He stops himself. "Idrilla." Another flip of her heart. "You needn't go freeze in the forest if something is bothering you." He ducks down to meet her eyes, which, up until then, were fixated on his breastplate. "I'm always up at night. I'd be more than happy to help you with whatever is wrong." If her heart twists around one more time, she might have to go see a healer.

In constant fear of saying something stupid, she simply nods, giving him a small smile. She hates that he can see she's troubled, but it warms her heart that he's concerned. She bids him goodnight and slips through the door, pressing her back against it once it's shut.

One hand rests at the base of her throat, feeling her pulse thrumming away. She takes a few deep breaths to try and calm her galloping heart, but to no avail. Her mind repeats the same mantra:

_He cares._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3AM campfire talks are the best talks

Another sleepless night, another few hours at the campfire with Cullen. The fire crackles in front of them, casting strange shadows on Idrilla's sharp cheekbones and making the purplish bruises under Cullen's eyes appear even darker. The elven woman sucks in a deep breath, catching her now regular companion's attention.

"What's on your mind?" He mumbles. His voice is soft, concerned. When she looks up at him, he seems genuinely worried for her — not that he's ever insincere. Idrilla tries to find a way to form what she wants to say into a proper sentence.

"At Redcliffe..." She pauses. How should she phrase this? "In the alternate future. I saw you."

He makes a small noise of acknowledgement, though she swears can hear a hint of apprehension in his voice. "What did I say to you?"

Idrilla winces. Her eyes remain steadfastly glued to the inky skyline, making a halfhearted attempt to count every star in the sky while she deliberates.

She doesn't want to tell him, but she feels like he should know. It was real for him, after all.

"You were dead. I saw your body." She states bluntly, turning away from the fire, towards Cullen. He seems unsurprised at the news, and she takes this as her cue to continue.

"Leliana told me that you were captured during the last siege on the castle. They tried to get information out of you, but when you refused, they decided your...prolonged existence...was unnecessary. You were executed."

Cullen is silent for a few beats as he processes the information. A true strategist, always laying out his options before acting. Eventually, he just lets out a breathy laugh. Idrilla isn't sure if she should be relived or alarmed, and she doesn't have time to decide before he speaks. "I honestly don't know what to say. If anything, I'm sorry that you...had to see that."

Idrilla's brows dip together in concern and confusion. "You don't find this at all concerning?" Cullen barks a short laugh.

"I read the reports, Idrilla. From what you described, I'm not sure I'd want to be alive in a future like that. If anything, I'm just glad I didn't give that damn Elder One what he wanted." His stare is hard as he looks into the reds and oranges of the fire, and Idrilla knows he cares more about his fate than he lets on. She doesn't press. When he returns his gaze to her, his eyes soften. "Thank you for telling me."

The elf simply nods. "I thought you'd want to know. If it means anything, I think you were quite admirable." It takes all of her self control to maintain eye contact. Even then, it makes her break out in goosebumps.

The scarred corner of Cullen's mouth pulls upwards, almost imperceptibly. "That means a great deal." Idrilla smiles back, and for a moment they're caught in a loop. Neither one wants to be the first to look away, yet the electricity between them seems to intensify to overwhelming amounts the longer they stare. Idrilla has to double check to make sure this man's not making her magic run rampant and out of control. Reluctantly, she breaks the moment by looking down at her hands and flexing her leather-clad fingers. The spark is not of her own creation, she's sure.

While Idrilla is worriedly inspecting her palms, Cullen shifts so he's angled towards her. "When you go to close the Breach tomorrow," he begins, catching her attention. Hazel eyes are once again turned in his direction, their intensity as overwhelming as they were when his own first met them. "That much magic poured through one person, there's no arguing that it's going to be dangerous."

Idrilla smiles sympathetically. "I understand that, Cullen, but the fate of the entire world rests on this. I can't afford to be afraid of hurting myself when so much is on the line, and neither can you. We need to focus on what's important-"

"Your safety is important." He interjects, and Idrilla falls silent. She's stuck, not wanting to promise him something she isn't sure of herself, but wanting more than anything to believe what he says. "Just...come back to us in one piece, at least." She watches his adam's apple move as he swallows nervously, but remains quiet. "Without you, what am I supposed to do on the nights I can't sleep?"

The elf smiles at that. "Go knock on Cassandra's door. I'm sure she'd be excellent company if you wake her up in the middle of the night for any other reason than 'the town is on fire.'"

Cullen laughs at the truth of the statement, a quick sound, but it's laughter nonetheless. Warmth blooms through Idrilla's chest, and a voice at the back of her mind chides her, saying she's letting herself get in too deep. She can't disagree, but she's not sure she's willing to do anything about it, either.

A breeze picks up then, blowing a dark strand of hair free from Idrilla's already loosening braid. It blows haphazardly across her face, and before he can stop himself, Cullen is tucking it gently back behind her ear. The woman freezes, and the commander is suddenly painfully aware of his actions. Both of them seem to have stopped breathing, and the sounds of wildlife that had once joined the background noise of the fire are abruptly absent.

She's not sure if she's imagined it, but she swears she sees Cullen leaning in towards her, just barely. His hand still hasn't moved. She can still feel the leather of his glove brushing against the shell of her ear. Goosebumps begin to raise on the back of her neck.

This is a bad idea, the voice in her head reminds her.

She doesn't care. Her eyelids begin to slide closed.

One of the ignited logs in the fire pops loudly, and with that, the moment is shattered.

Without warning, the commander is rising to his feet, spewing apologies. "I -- sorry." One step back. "We should...return to our quarters." Another step. "Tomorrow will be a long day, and..." Farther away, now. "I'll see you in the morning, my lady." With that, his back is turned to her and he's ducking into his tent. Something hits her hard, but she's not sure what. It feels suspiciously like disappointment.

She knows she shouldn't be so affected by his use of 'my lady' instead of her name, but she can't stop her heart from wrenching in her chest when she thinks about it. As she makes her way towards the small building she now considers her own, she contemplates turning around and making a run for the forest. Would he come find her again? Likely not.

She shakes the strange thoughts from her mind when she reaches her door, trying to clear her head while she unlaces her boots. She needs to focus on the task ahead of her. Tomorrow, she is going to seal the breach, even if she has to die to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

For the second time in two days, Cullen finds himself asking Idrilla to be careful, to come back to him safely. This time, however, he's not so sure she'll make it back in one piece.

The warm glow inside the chantry brings out the brown in her hazel eyes, and in them Cullen can see that she's scared. It breaks his heart, but what worries him the most is the taut clenching of her jaw, the resolute set of every muscle in her face. She's prepared to go down, but not without a fight.

Her hands are shaking. He sees it, just barely, and his first instinct is to reach out and steady her, though he knows that's inappropriate. Part of him wants to suggest she use the chancellor's escape route with them, that way even if Corypheus attacks while they're retreating he knows he can go down protecting her. Another part of him knows she would never evacuate with the civilians when she knows there's something she can do to make their escape safer. He can't stop her, no matter what he says. Not unless he drags her away kicking and screaming.

"Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way..." He trails off. Cullen knows the chances of what's he's suggesting happening are slim to none. He's seen many brave men leave on suicide missions much like this one. He's never seen any return.

Idrilla bites her lip, a habit of hers that Cullen has become acutely aware of in the last few weeks. It becomes painfully clear him that this may be the last time he sees her do it.

"Keep everyone safe, Cullen. I'm counting on you." Her voice doesn't waver.

"Of course." With that, she turns toward the chantry's exit, grabbing her staff out of its sheath on her back. Blackwall, Dorian, and Varric follow close behind her. Cullen turns away before he can see her form disappear behind the heavy wooden doors.

•••

His fingers are throbbing. The cold has seeped through even the fur lining of his gloves, turning the appendages to ice. His previous tactic of flexing his hands in and out of fists no longer works. He can't move them anymore.  
His toes are even colder, though he lost feeling in those quite a while ago. He's not sure how long he's been out here, trudging through the snow, eyes frantically scanning the darkening horizon for any sign of her, but it feels like it's been an eternity. Still, he pushes on.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear Cassandra call his name, saying they should turn back. He thinks he hears her comment on the darkening colour of the sky, saying that night will fall soon, but he dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "You can return to camp, seeker, but I will continue searching. We have to find _some_ sign of her." He takes another step forward in the almost knee-deep snow, and his boot is almost swallowed up by the freezing white powder.

 

"Commander, Haven was completely buried. If the Herald was in there, chances are she was-"

Movement over the hill in front of them catches Cullen's attention. Ignoring the protests of both his sore muscles and Seeker Pentaghast, he breaks out into a run through the snow.

The movement is a person, he's sure of it. It only takes one glimpse of a faint green light and inky hair blowing in the harsh wind to know he's found what he'd been searching for. He begins to run even faster. "There! It's her!"

Cullen can't reach her fast enough, and when he finally does, Idrilla drops to her knees in front of him. He catches her before she can fall forward into the snow, his hands on both of her shoulders. "Idrilla." He breathes out, but his relief is short-lived. She's as white as a sheet, and even though he can't feel her with his own frozen gloved fingers, he knows she's as cold as ice. Sweeping her up into his arms, he rushes back in the direction of camp, careful not to jostle her too much.

She's so small in his arms, weighing practically nothing. Curled up against his chest, she looks so frail it's almost as if she'd break at the gentlest touch. At this point, she just might. She looks as if she's at the brink of death. Cullen notices her eyes are still open, just a crack. Her lips part, and her voice is paper thin. "Cullen?" She croaks. "Is that you?"

He breathes out a panicked laugh, holding her just a little tighter, a little closer. "Yes, it's me. I'm here. You're safe now. I need you to hold on just a little while longer for me, alright?"

"Of course, Commander." She murmurs, and her eyelids slide shut. He starts moving faster.

He rushes past a shocked Cassandra, who scrambles to turn around and keep up with him. "Thank the Maker." He hears her breathe, but they're not out of the woods yet, literally and figuratively. He just hopes someone at camp can save her. They have to.

•••

It's been hours since Cullen had brought the herald back to camp. He rushed her into a tent as fast as he could, but just as quickly as he entered the small space, he was kicked out by Josephine and Leliana. He tried to resist the eviction, but his protests fell on deaf ears. The two women shooed him from the tent just as Solas entered, a variety of salves and potions piled high in his arms.

Since then, both Leliana and Josephine have left, but Solas remains inside. Cullen is still forbidden to enter, at least until the healer is finished his job. The commander has taken to pacing nervously beside the makeshift war table, occasionally stopping to stare blankly at the map of Thedas that lays on top of the wooden surface. Why they had set up a war table, Cullen was unsure. To give them a semblance of familiarity or control, perhaps. It isn't helping.

A strange sort of panic begins to rise in his throat. Why wasn't he allowed in her tent? Would it be horrible to just see her? He doesn't understand why he is being barred entry, or why he's even complying with the rule in the first place. He _had_ been the one to find her, after all.

Movement near Idrilla's tent catches his attention. The flap opens, and Solas steps out. Within moments Cullen is beside him. All of the containers he brought into the tent with him are still in his arms, though this time they are empty. He looks exhausted, much like when kept the mark from killing Idrilla while she was still the Inquisition's prisoner. It briefly crosses Cullen's mind that he should thank the elf for once again saving Idrilla's life, but he just as quickly reminds himself of his own uncertainty regarding her current state.

"She is unconscious, but stable. The Herald of Andraste will live, Commander." Solas says with a weary smile. Cullen nods his thanks and takes no time lifting the flap of the tent and slipping inside. The interior of the tent is cozy, most likely due to the multitude of oil lamps inside, at least one on every flat surface. Idrilla lies on a cot in the far corner, and Cullen practically runs to her bedside, sitting down in the chair next to her.

She is unconscious, like the elf had said, but he can see her chest rising and falling with definitive breaths, and some colour has returned to her face. The relief Cullen feels at seeing her alive and safe is palpable, and he takes one of her hands and holds it in both of his. Fleetingly, he considers pressing his lips to the back of it. It doesn't sound like such a bad idea in his head.

"Hello there." A familiar voice croaks, and Cullen's gaze snaps from Idrilla's hand to her face. Her eyes are open slightly, and her lips are curved into a sleepy smile.

Cullen breathes her name for what feels like the thousandth time today. Truthfully, he's not sure what else to say.

Idrilla's eyes flick downward toward where her small hand is dwarfed in both of his. "You're holding my hand." She mumbles. She sounds disoriented, like she doesn't quite know where she is, but the smile remains nonetheless.

Cullen breathes out a laugh at her delirious state. "Yes, I am. Would you like me to stop?"

"No, no." Her eyebrows pull together in slight disapproval. "It's nice. I like it." A small pause, and then, "I like _you_ , Cullen."

His heart skips a beat in his chest, but he can't stop the smile that comes to his face. He gently squeezes her hand, and Idrilla responds with a weak squeeze of her own. "I like you too." He takes a moment to enjoy the intimate silence between them before speaking again, albeit reluctantly. "You should rest. You've been through quite a lot."

As if his statement suddenly reminds her of the pain, Idrilla's face becomes a grimace. "I feel like I've been run over by a herd of druffalo." She mumbles, and Cullen can't help but laugh. Despite the discomfort, her eyelids begin to flutter shut, and her breathing returns to the deep rhythm it was when he first entered the tent. With one hand, he brushes a few stray strands of hair off of her cheek. His bare fingers linger on the soft skin there, but only for a moment.

Soon, Cullen is slipping out of the tent, though he knows he'd rather stay. She deserves some peace and quiet to rest, he tells himself, though it doesn't make it any easier to leave. The commander tries to busy himself with menial tasks around camp — pitching more tents, organizing guard rotations, handing out blankets — but with his heart thumping hard against his ribs, he finds it hard to concentrate on anything but Idrilla.


End file.
